Sweet dreams, baby

I know we all sometimes dream we can fly, and everyone eventually will have the dream about being naked and having to give a public talk, or sitting for an exam we never studied for in a class we never attended, and then there’s always the old chestnut of all your teeth falling out for no reason whatsoever.

But will someone please explain to me why my most common anxiety dream is that I’m trying to put in my contact lenses, but for some reason they are three times the size of my eyeball, so they have no chance of fitting? My dream reaction is always, “h’mmm, that’s strange — they fit fine yesterday….”

When I had this dream last night, I even gave a kind of nervous giggle after trying to put in these supersized contacts, and commented to my nearby friend that this was “just like those weird dreams I have sometimes where my lenses are too big to go in my eyes!” (nervous giggle!!)

I hate it when my dreams refer to themselves as dreams. It’s like my brain is an Escher drawing, and it makes me crazy. So stop it, stupid brain. Yeah, thanks and all that but can you please can it with the self-referential meta-levels?

Yeah, thanks. Much appreciated.

P.S. On a completely unrelated note, I’ve been asked to start writing for this other crazy website that has a roster of several different writers — each person gets one day of the week all to themselves. I get Sundays — beginning tomorrow — which is great, because that means I can have all of Saturday to think up lame ideas about what to write about, discard them all one by one in a growing spiral of shame and despair, and then cobble something together late at night out of desperation. This is how I always wrote my finest papers in college.

And since everybody who is anybody knows that Sundays are the lowest traffic days on weblogs, go ahead and click on over and show your support. Or don’t, and rot in hell. Totally your choice.

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